Chapter 57 — Three Days of Heat, 4 (R18+)
Warning: This chapter contains explicit adult content. If you're 17 or younger, please skip ahead.
The first hints of dawn slipped through the heavy velvet curtains like shy fingers, painting the bedchamber in soft strokes of gold that warmed the rumpled sheets and chased away the night's deeper shadows. Virelle Thren stirred slow, her body still buzzing faint from the endless hours of their tangled passion—a sweet, lazy ache throbbing between her thighs, her skin prickling sensitive to the slightest brush of air or fabric. She blinked against the gentle light, eyelids heavy with sated sleep, only to find Sylan Kyle Von Noctis already awake beside her—propped on one elbow, his crimson eyes locked on her with an intensity that stole her breath, dark and hungry, like he'd spent the dark hours memorizing every curve and sigh.
His fingers traced idle loops on her hip, calloused tips rough against her smoothness, sending fresh shivers dancing down her spine despite the cozy nest of blankets. "You're staring," she murmured, voice thick and husky with remnants of dreams, a sleepy smile tugging her lips as she shifted closer, feeling the heat rolling off him.
Sylan's mouth curved wicked, that dangerous glint sparking in his eyes as his hand drifted higher, palm cupping the soft weight of her breast, thumb grazing her nipple slow and deliberate. It tightened instant under his touch, a spark jumping straight to her core, and Virelle bit her lower lip to trap a moan, her body arching just a fraction into his hand. "Can you fault me?" he rumbled low, voice gravel-rough from the night's cries, leaning in to brush his lips against her temple. "Too damn beautiful to glance away."
She should've been bone-tired, utterly spent—they'd burned through half the night wrapped in each other, bodies moving in a rhythm that left her muscles humming sore and satisfied. But the way he looked at her now—like she was the only star in his sky, the sole thing worth chasing—stirred a fresh rush of heat low in her belly, her skin flushing warm under his gaze.
His fingers kept wandering, bold and unhurried—sliding down the plane of her stomach, dipping between her thighs to find her already slick, her body waking eager to him even before her mind caught up. Virelle gasped soft, hips lifting instinctive into his touch as he teased her entrance, fingers circling light before pressing in—one, then two, curling just right to stroke that spot that made her toes curl. "Sylan—" she breathed, the name half-protest, half-plea, but it melted to a whimper as he rolled atop her seamless, his weight pinning her delicious to the mattress, his cock—hard and hot—nudging insistent against her inner thigh.
"Shh," he murmured, sealing his mouth to hers in a deep, consuming kiss—tongue delving slow to tangle with hers, tasting the sleep-sweet remnants of him on her lips. His fingers pumped steady inside her, thumb finding her clit to rub firm circles that had her thighs quaking, breaths fracturing against his mouth. Virelle's hands roamed his back, nails scraping light over the ridges of muscle and old scars, pulling him closer as the familiar coil tightened low and fierce.
He didn't draw it out. With a low, possessive growl that vibrated through her, Sylan withdrew his fingers—leaving her clenching empty, a whine slipping free—then aligned himself, thrusting home in one smooth, profound glide that buried him full. Virelle cried out into his kiss, body yielding to the stretch—the sweet burn of his thickness filling her utterly, every inch pressing deep until his hips ground flush to hers. He paused a beat, letting her adjust, savoring the velvet clutch of her around him, then began to move—slow drags out that left her gasping, then easy rolls in that ground against every sensitive nerve, building the fire deliberate and deep.
The morning light gilded their skin, catching the sheen of fresh sweat as their bodies synced—Sylan's thrusts measured at first, savoring the way she fluttered around him, her breasts brushing his chest with each rock. His hands mapped her—gripping her hips to angle deeper, cupping her breasts to tease nipples to aching peaks with thumbs and teeth, drawing breathy moans that he swallowed in endless kisses. Virelle's legs hooked his waist, heels digging to urge him on, her hips rising to meet him, the slow build turning her moans to pleas.
"You feel so good," he groaned against her throat, lips trailing fire down her neck, nipping the pulse there before soothing with tongue. "Made for this—for taking me deep."
Virelle's back arched off the bed, fingers knotting in his blond hair, tugging to yank his mouth back to hers. "Harder," she whispered, voice frayed with need, no room for gentle.
Sylan growled assent, pace snapping urgent—the bed creaking protest under them as his hips drove fiercer, more demanding, each plunge hitting that spot inside her that sparked white-hot behind her eyes. The angle was ruthless, his cock dragging every ridge against her clenching walls, the wet sounds of their joining blending with her fractured cries and his ragged grunts. Virelle's nails raked his shoulders, legs clamping tighter as the coil wound brutal, pleasure cresting to shattering.
"Sylan, I'm—" Her back vaulted the mattress as release thundered through—body seizing tight around him in pulsing waves, milking his length as she wailed into his mouth, slick gushing hot. Sylan chased with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside her—cock throbbing, flooding her with thick heat as he buried in her neck, hips stuttering through the blaze.
They lay tangled breathless, chests heaving in time—Sylan kissing her collarbone lazy, then her lips, voice rough-worn with bliss. "Properly roused now."
Virelle laughed winded, fingers twining his hair, drawing him near. "Best wake-up I've known."
His grin flashed sly, rolling aside to haul her flush—hand already questing her curves. "Good," he rumbled, voice dipping dark, fingers tracing her thigh upward. "We're just warming." They found her core anew—wet and willing—thumb circling her clit feather-light. "Two days yet, recall?"
Virelle's breath snagged as he eased two fingers home, thumb teasing steady. "I think," she gasped, "I'm going to need you to remind me often."
Before she could string more, he was tugging her toward the bathroom—the cool tiles a shock against her flushed skin, but the steam from the shower swallowed them quick, hot water cascading like a warm rain. Sylan backed her to the wall, hands clamping her thighs to hoist her easy—her legs wrapping his waist instinctive, back arching as he surged in deep, the slick slide of water turning every thrust profounder, the spray drumming their joined skin.
The wetness amplified it all—movements gliding smoother, thrusts delving fiercer, Sylan's mouth latching her breast, teeth grazing the nipple as his hips battered hers. Virelle's head lolled against the tile, moans echoing in the misty confines as pleasure twisted tight, her nails scoring his shoulders. The steam clung to them, beading on skin as their bodies locked—his free hand zeroing her clit, rubbing tight loops that hurled her over, body vise on him in crashing waves as she wailed, Sylan spilling hot inside with a groan, face buried her neck.
Later, in the kitchen, Virelle stood in naught but an apron—the thin fabric tied loose at her waist, barely shielding her front, the ties framing her bare ass and the curve of her hips as she stirred a pot of simmering stew, spices blooming rich in the air. But her focus splintered under Sylan's stare from the doorway—crimson eyes devouring her, lingering on the apron's strings knotted bow-like, the way it skimmed her thighs, teasing what lay beneath.
Before she could turn, he was on her—pressing her front to the counter, hands diving under the apron to palm her breasts, cock rigid and scorching against her ass. "You're killing me," she murmured, but leaned back into him, body igniting instant at his touch.
"And you're perfection," he whispered, spinning her to face him—the counter digging her back as he boosted her atop it, the cool wood a jolt to her heat. The apron hiked, baring her fully as he thrust home deep—Virelle's hands bracketing the edge, body quaking as he took her there in the open kitchen, the thrill of possible eyes spiking her pulse. His fingers claimed her clit, rubbing furious as his hips snapped urgent, her moans pitching wild until she broke—clenching him fierce, Sylan following with a snarl, forehead to hers in the haze.
By afternoon, they tumbled to the sitting room—the hearth crackling fresh, shadows playing on their skin as Virelle straddled his lap, fingers knotted his hair, sinking slow onto him—savoring the stretch, the full, the way he filled her utterly. His hands locked her hips, guiding the roll as she leaned to claim his mouth—deep, languid kisses that tasted of salt and want, her body undulating in unhurried waves.
"You're mine," he murmured to her lips, thrusts upward measured and profound.
"Always," Virelle whispered, fingers etching his jaw's line. Their forms synced seamless, the outer world a blur as they drowned in the other—the slow blaze cresting gradual but devastating, Sylan's hands questing her curves like mapping home, until they peaked locked—her clenching him in shuddering bliss, him spilling within with a groan.
As evening deepened, they slipped to the bath anew—the steaming tub a cocoon of heat, water lapping their skin as Sylan drew her to his lap, back to chest, hands gliding her slick form. His cock nudged her ass insistent, hard and ready.
"Again?" she murmured, arching into him, body already softening.
"Forever," he growled, fingers claiming her clit as he eased in from behind—the water sloshing wild as he stirred, thrusts slow and consuming. Virelle's head lulled his shoulder, moans steaming the air as delight coiled unyielding, his hand cupping her breast, thumb tormenting the peak while the other rubbed her clit steadfast. The double blaze hurled her over—body locking him in pulsing surges as she wailed, Sylan chasing with a snarl, release flooding her as he clutched her close.
By nightfall, they returned to bed—the moonlight silvering their skin as Sylan rolled atop her, motions unhurried this time—profound glides that traced every quiver, hands worshiping her form like a sacred rite.
"You're mine," he murmured to her lips, thrusts deep and sure.
"Always," Virelle whispered, fingers mapping his features. Their bodies wove in flawless accord, the beyond forgotten as they vanished in the other's hold once more.
The night stretched before them, boundless and brimming vow, with a single day left to blaze even fiercer. But for now, there was only this—the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of their ragged breaths, the way their bodies fit together like they were made for each other.
And for the first time, Virelle didn't worry about tomorrow. Because in this moment, with Sylan's body moving over hers, his lips on her skin, his hands worshipping every inch of her—she was exactly where she was meant to be.